The Price of Happiness
by TsubameTrebleClef
Summary: Humans are fragile. Humans are weak. They struggle and suffer and fall apart, they yield to temptation and their sins cost them more than they can bear to lose. But two brothers stand side by side through it all, fighting and enduring until their day of fulfilment comes.


**A/N: It's been a while since I've written for FMA! I wrote this because I'd never posted anything focused on Ed and Al's relationship and that was unforgivable. The document sat half-finished in its folder for so long before I revisited it ahhh**

 **I also got a bit carried away with the summary. It makes the fic sound deep and meaningful when in actual fact it's just fluff and angst with a bit of silliness mixed in. Oops.**

* * *

 _Resembool, autumn 1910_

Alphonse had gone up to their mother's room at some point that night. Edward found him there, burrowed under the sheets, his small body making a lump in the middle of the otherwise tidy bed.

They had kept the room as it was after their mother died, though they both avoided going inside as much as they could, except to chase away the mutinous dust that gathered every few weeks. It looked much the same as it had six years ago, after the pink carnation petals Winry and Granny Pinako had helped them scatter over the bed had turned brown and they'd trudged around the place with a bucket and gathered them up. Edward remembered holding one up to the light and feeling it crumble between his fingers.

He didn't come in here if he could help it. It made him miss his mother with a fierce longing, seeing the photo of her with her smiling parents sitting in its frame on the desk, next to the antique clock that he and Alphonse had made sure still ticked tirelessly after all these years.

It was his father's room too, he supposed, but he preferred not to think about that. It might make him punch a hole through the wall.

When Alphonse had slipped away, Edward had been busy at work in the study, head buried in heap upon heap of old books and dog-eared paper. They spent most nights there, scribbling furiously before they eventually conked out on the floor and woke up with their notes stuck to their faces. Their beds were neglected more and more these days, but Edward couldn't say he minded. When they'd first gotten a room to themselves, the big brother's privilege of the top bunk had been his. Within a year Alphonse had clobbered him in a messy fight and claimed the crown jewel for himself, and the myth about the supremacy of older siblings was, well, debunked. Edward had lived in perpetual shame ever since.

"Al?" he said now, squinting at the lump. The lamp on the desk was on, but its shade was stained with age and made the scanty glow dimmer than it already was.

The lump wriggled about and seemed to shrink in on itself.

Edward persisted. "Al, come out."

More wriggling, followed by a muffled refusal.

Edward sighed. "Why are you crying?"

Silence. Then, very slowly, Alphonse crawled out of his burrow. He _was_ crying, though he had barely made a sound. But when his puffy eyes met Edward's concerned ones, he chuckled, hiccupping a little. "I can't hide anything from you, can I, Brother?"

"You wish you could," said Edward, a note of pride in his voice. "Now tell me why you're being such a big baby."

"That's not very nice, Brother," said Alphonse reproachfully. "I saw _you_ crying over a cut finger the other day."

It was fortunate, for Edward at least, that the lamp couldn't completely illuminate his face, which had flushed bright pink. "I was _not_ crying."

"Yes you were. I saw it very clearly."

"I was cutting onions!" said Edward desperately.

"You were cutting a pie, actually."

Edward, partly because his face felt so hot he couldn't stand it, and partly because he couldn't think of a witty response, felt the need to fall back on his previous demand. "Well, you still haven't told me why you were crying. Or why you came up here all of a sudden."

Alphonse hesitated. "Brother, we're . . . almost done, aren't we?"

To anyone else, it would have been an oddly vague question, but Edward knew exactly what he was referring to. "Yeah," he said, surprised that Alphonse was asking him this now. "We're done. I just need to write up a summary and check over everything one last time. It'll definitely be ready tomorrow."

He didn't understand the strange look in his brother's eyes. Alphonse lifted the blanket off himself, the movement thoughtful. "Tomorrow, huh."

"Something wrong?" Edward asked uncertainly. Alphonse wasn't acting like himself. All this time, he had been just as excited as Edward was about their progress. And now, after years and years, they had finally worked through the complex knots and kinks in biological transmutation. They were finally going to do what no alchemist had done before.

"No, I just . . ." Alphonse scratched his head, a little embarrassed smile on his face. "I just thought, since we're doing it tomorrow . . . it would be nice to get this place ready for her. We could pick flowers and put them in a vase – that sort of thing. So she'll feel welcome. So she'll know we haven't forgotten anything about her at all."

"Oh." Edward hadn't thought of that. He felt a great surge of affection for his brother – his little brother who had so much love and consideration for others. "Yeah! Let's do that in the morning. I'm sure she'll be happy." He mussed Alphonse's hair. "You're really great, you know." He flopped onto the bed, yawning. Exhaustion was taking over, now that he had taken a break from calculating the mass of sulfur they would need for the hundredth time. "Ugh, my head feels inflated."

"That's because you got about five seconds of sleep last night."

"Ah well – all the hard work paid off in the end." He yawned again. The bed was so warm and soft and comfortable after several consecutive nights of hard floor and papercut-inflicting pages. "I think I'm going to fall asleep in a moment," he admitted. His bones felt as if they'd turned to mush.

Alphonse laughed, bouncing up and shuffling past him to switch off the lamp. The room was swallowed by darkness. "Then I'll stay here too," he said, and the mattress jerked as he lay down and pulled the blanket over both of them. They fell into a companionable silence, eyes turned towards the ceiling but not really seeing it, each thinking his own thoughts about the task they were to undertake the next day. They stayed this way for so long that Edward's eyelids began to droop and he was on the verge of dozing off, lulled by the combined warmth of the bed and his brother, and the sense of security that they warranted.

"Brother . . ."

Edward's eyes shot open. The whisper was followed by a small sob.

"I'm scared . . ."

Rolling over, Edward tried to make out his brother's face, but it was too dark. "Of what?"

He waited, but there was no response. Just as he began to entertain the idea that Alphonse had talked in his sleep and was about to drift off again, Alphonse's voice startled him back into complete consciousness. "Brother, is it really possible?"

"Mm?" Edward replied rather groggily, his bodily functions taking a moment to catch up with his brain. "Is what?"

"Human transmutation."

The two words were uttered in a terrified whisper, as though Alphonse dared not say them for Edward's sake, because Edward had always been sure that the forbidden act could be accomplished and would not hear any objections. Edward had always assumed his brother felt the same way he did about their plan. But tonight something was different.

Still, he only laughed dismissively despite himself and said, with brotherly fondness, "Silly. Of course it's possible. We've come this far, haven't we? You know the theory's perfect. Every step complies with existing alchemical formulas. It's not possible to make a mistake at this point."

"That's true, scientifically speaking, but . . ."

"But what?"

"It's . . ." Alphonse gulped. "It's too good to be true, Brother. Are we really . . . going to see her again? I'm scared that – that –"

"Al." Edward reached out and felt for Alphonse's shoulder. His fingers landed instead on a head of soft but prickly hair, so much like his own but shorter, and, though the difference was indiscernible in the pitch black room, a shade darker. "Do you remember what Mum used to do to get us to eat our vegetables?"

He felt rather than saw Alphonse's start of surprise. "Our vegetables? I think I remember. She chopped them up with scissors and shaped them into animals, didn't she?"

"Yep. And then she made up a story about them. I always ate the rabbits and the sheep and the other weaklings."

"You're so mean, Brother!"

"Don't say that! You ate them too!"

They were both overtaken by a fit of giggles that took several minutes to subside. When Alphonse stopped, Edward kept going, which made Alphonse start again – and on it went. At last they were forced to stop for lack of breath.

"Brother," panted Alphonse, "you . . . are . . . evil."

The way he gasped for breath was so amusing that Edward, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach, involuntarily snorted out his laughter through his nose. The ensuing sensation was a very unpleasant one. "Al!" he yelled. "You could have given me a nosebleed!"

Alphonse burst into giggles again, though there was not much to laugh at anymore. Edward, however, felt like his insides would spontaneously combust if he did any more chortling.

"Seriously! Stop!"

Gradually Alphonse's laughter died down. The two of them were left completely winded, wiping tears from their eyes and firing half-hearted expletives at each other. When he could breathe normally again, Edward heaved a great sigh, reached over and gave his brother's arm a playful pinch.

"Ow!"

"Honestly, how could you so easily forget?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but how could you so thoughtlessly inflict physical harm on your only brother?"

Edward pushed Alphonse so hard that he rolled onto his stomach, silencing him. "Just think about it," he said wistfully. "What it'll be like after she comes back. We'll go into town together and have picnics by the river, and we'll show her all the alchemy we've learnt. She'll be impressed, won't she? At night we'll stay up reading and refuse to go to bed, and she'll come in and sing a little song and we'll be asleep in minutes. You know the ones. You're always singing them yourself."

He didn't know how he could tell, but he knew Alphonse was smiling, and the knowledge that his brother felt comforted brought a smile to his own lips. "See? That's what we've always wanted, what we've worked so hard to achieve. And tomorrow we'll make it happen. You're a little idiot to be so forgetful, Al."

Alphonse chuckled softly, a sound so joyful and reassured that Edward's heart overflowed with happiness. "You're right. Thanks, Brother."

And so the conversation ended, and the two boys, hearts filled with hope and youthful excitement, fell asleep snuggled against each other, not knowing that in less than twenty four hours they would be plunged into a living hell.

* * *

 _Central City, 1914_

The fan in the middle of the ceiling spun lazily, its blades casting long, distorted shadows that rippled over the dull orange sofa and the mould-coloured carpet in the centre of the hotel room. Neither of the Elric brothers paid it any attention. Edward lay on his back on the bed beside the window, his eyes half-shut. Alphonse could tell from his expression and the way he was cradling his right shoulder that he was in pain. Automail often caused nagging aches when air pressure plummeted, which on a fine day usually meant imminent rain. But they hadn't seen a drop of it as of yet. It seemed the skies were done mourning Lieutenant Colonel – now Brigadier General – Hughes. Alphonse wished they would open up and cry in his stead, because crying was something his body couldn't do, no matter how badly he wanted it to.

He sat on the other bed, which was pushed up against the adjacent wall. His head was slumped forward, and the little white lights that served as his eyes had dimmed to the extent of almost disappearing altogether. The light was switched off, but he had left the lamp beside his bed on, not knowing if Edward wanted to sleep or brood or jump out the window and refurbish the hotel with monstrous decorations. You never knew, when Edward was concerned. But the minutes continued to tick by, and his brother stayed silent.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed before Edward spoke suddenly. "Were you happy?"

Alphonse's armour creaked as his head jerked up, and the lights flashed on, bright and penetrating, in the spaces where his eyes should have been. "When, Brother?" he asked when he found his voice.

"I don't know," said Edward, and he sounded like a lost child. "When I said we'd bring Mum back. When you agreed to it. When we stayed up poring over forbidden books."

"I . . ." Alphonse stopped. He didn't know what to say. For a while he looked at Edward, who lay utterly still on the other bed, hands clasped behind his head, eyes on the ceiling. "Yes, I suppose so," he said honestly. "I mean, there were times when I was frustrated, there were times when what we wanted seemed impossible – but mostly I was happy because I believed we could do it. I told myself she wasn't really gone, you know – she was just on a long trip and she'd be back before we knew it. The night before we attempted the transmutation, I panicked . . . but then . . ."

Metal and wood creaked as Edward swung his legs off his bed and stood up. He was still fully dressed in his usual leather attire. "So what I said that night . . . it made you happy? Really happy?" The look in his eyes was awful.

Alphonse turned away. The memories associated with that night, mingling with the grief that was already threatening to suffocate him, were almost too much to bear. "Yes."

"Then . . . looking back on it, are you glad I made you happy?"

Alphonse stared at him. "What are you trying to say, Brother?"

Sighing, Edward turned his back on him, gazing out the window where only the dark, rigid outlines of buildings could be seen. "I've been thinking," he said after a while. "First you lost your whole body because of me, and now Mr Hughes . . . I'm hopeless. I made Winry cry. Every time I try to make things better, all my effort blows up in my face." He paused for a moment, and then resumed, now with an irrepressible note of desperation in his voice, "Al, you know you can always quit. You can go back to Resembool. I'll find a way to get your body back, and then –"

"Brother, no –"

"I don't want this!" Edward burst out, whipping around and looking straight at Alphonse. For a moment Alphonse's eyes were met with pure, unbearable anguish, and then Edward seemed to realise, several seconds after he had spoken, that he had spoken at all. His eyes widened, and he clamped his mouth shut and dropped his gaze.

Alphonse hesitated. "What is it you don't want?" he asked softly.

"Nothing," said Edward, in the low, curt tone he used when he was trying to convince people that he was an unapproachable dog of the military, above useless things like emotions. "Nothing." Only now there was no one to convince except himself.

Alphonse didn't press him. Neither did he accept Edward's answer. He only sat there and said nothing.

Edward sighed and dropped his face in his hands. When he turned to face Alphonse again his gaze was clear and steady. "What would you do if I died?"

A chill pierced Alphonse to the heart, even though he didn't physically possess one. He felt it just as keenly as if he did. "Why are you asking me that?"

For a second Edward seemed at a loss as to how to answer, but it was only for a second. "Because we swore to each other we'd get our bodies back. We keep making promises to each other. But what is a promise, really? It's just a delusion, isn't it? Just a delusion that we humans think we're smart enough to make a reality. Al, I –" He choked on the word, and laughed, but the sound had no humour in it. "What am I saying?"

"Brother," said Alphonse gently. When Edward didn't respond, he said it louder. "Brother, listen. I am not going to answer your question. I'm not answering it, because as long as I'm alive I will not let you die. Just like last time, you idiot. And I'm not answering it because it's not something we should dwell on, especially now. How can we keep going if we think about it?"

Edward's head was bowed, but Alphonse could tell he was listening. "You're right," he said eventually. "I'm sorry." But his voice was flat and empty, echoing off the cracked, parched earth of a drought-ridden field.

Alphonse looked at him despairingly. He could feel his own resolve start to crumble. He couldn't let both of them give up. Not after what Gracia had said to them. "Brother," he said, very calmly, "come here for a second."

The request was odd enough to make Edward turn, his gold eyes wide and luminous in the darkness. "What?"

"Come here."

Edward slid off his bed and walked over, his steps somewhat hesitant. "What are you –"

In one swift movement, Alphonse swiped Edward off the floor with both hands and threw him across the room.

"WHAT THE – ?!"

Edward performed an involuntary backflip in midair and slammed into the sofa, which effectively cushioned his fall but skidded about a metre towards the wall. Arms and legs sticking up at odd angles, he jerked his head up and goggled at Alphonse in shock.

Alphonse had risen from the bed and was towering over Edward, his hands on his hips. The little lights that were his eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm right, as you say. Of course I'm right. Everyone thinks the Fullmetal Alchemist is hot stuff, but his little brother is the one who does all the work. Well, Brother? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Edward's mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out.

Alphonse nodded in a satisfied manner and continued dramatically, "That's right. If it weren't for me, you'd be strutting down the street right now, not realising you accidentally transmuted your pants into a miniskirt and your automail into a cannonball."

Edward blinked, gaping wordlessly at him, and then burst into peals of laughter. Alphonse tried to keep up his act of ridiculous smugness, but before long he was forced to give in, giggling like a little girl.

"Al," said Edward when he was done, turning himself the right way up, "I think you'd better stay away from the Colonel from now on. He's clearly a bad influence on your uncultivated mind."

"Excuse me, but my mind is highly cultivated, thank you very much," Alphonse protested, but something dark shot out at him and he yelled out in shock. Metal struck metal, and he was propelled backwards, hitting the floor with a resonant _clang_.

"Payback," said Edward, left foot raised in midair. He slowly lowered it, grinning. "So is that a win for me?"

"No way! It wasn't a proper fight."

"Fine, fine."

"More importantly, you should avoid making so much noise in a hotel," Alphonse chastised him mercilessly. "I'm surprised no one's come running."

They both laughed at his shameless hypocrisy and sat down again, the springs in Edward's bed shrieking in protest as he threw his weight carelessly on top of it.

But their light-hearted banter could only last for so long, and soon the heavy atmosphere of grief and hopelessness settled over the room again. The rain fell at long last, but it was subdued, droplets timidly tapping at the surfaces of the city, and the window had barely misted over when the skies dried up and shut their doors.

Alphonse could not stop thinking about Mr Hughes, alone and bleeding to death in a telephone box. Warm and fun-loving and alive one day, then cold and lifeless in a coffin the next. "I can imagine how Winry feels now," he said. "About us. It must be awful."

He heard Edward roll over on his bed. "All this time," he said quietly, "all we've been doing is causing trouble for other people."

As much as Alphonse didn't want to admit it, he knew it was true. He had run out of motivational words for the day.

There was a long _creak_ as Edward got out of bed. He made his way to the lamp and switched it off with a flick of his finger, casting the room into darkness. Alphonse raised an imaginary eyebrow as Edward's feet padded back to his bed.

"Did you really have to come all the way over here?" There was no answer. "You could have just asked, you know." Still nothing. Alphonse sighed heavily. "Are you going to sleep with your shoes on again?"

There was a muffled rustling, then a thud of something hitting the floorboards – quite loudly – followed by another. Alphonse could not contain the burst of laughter that escaped him, but somewhere along the way it turned into a choked sob that could never offer him relief, imprisoned as it was in his cold, unfeeling body.

* * *

 _The outskirts of Dublith, spring 1915_

The train chugged along the rails, heading southeast in the dazzling morning sunlight. Clouds of steam rose from its tall funnel, faded from black to a dull grey from wind and rain and storm. A row of old factories and warehouses flanked the locomotive as it weaved its way through the landscape, wheels grinding laboriously against the track.

Near the back of the train where the passengers were sparsest, two golden-haired, golden-eyed boys in their mid-teens sat tucked in the corner of a rear-facing seat. The elder of the two had his face turned to the window, his eyes bright and mouth upturned in a smile. The younger had laid his head on his brother's shoulder and appeared to be trying his hardest to stay awake despite the tiredness that pulled doggedly at his eyelids, which fluttered shut every now and then before forcing themselves open again by sheer force of will.

Edward glanced sideways as his brother's head slid off his shoulder and drooped for a moment, before Alphonse caught himself with a gasp and his eyes flew wide open. Edward chuckled affectionately.

"You can sleep, you know," he said. "Trains are basically designed for that."

"I know." Alphonse leaned back in the seat with a little smile. "I don't want to, though."

"Hmm? Why not?"

Alphonse laughed, and the sound sent waves of warmth through Edward's being. Alphonse had been laughing and smiling so much lately – and why wouldn't he? He was wholly, completely human again, and although Edward had never once thought of him as anything else, seeing his brother in the body they had both worked so hard to retrieve flooded his heart with a deluge of powerful emotions. He was still unused to it, after four long years of being greeted each day by the harsh clanking of Alphonse's armour body and the metallic ring that accompanied his every word, but he was glad for the thrill of opening his eyes every morning and seeing his brother's face peacefully asleep in the bed next to him, or awake and smiling at him.

"Honestly, I have no idea," Alphonse said. Though he was still grinning, he looked a little sheepish, and there was a strange, giddy light in his eyes. Edward scrutinised him.

"Are you all right, Al? Don't tell me the Truth messed up your brain while you were in there."

Alphonse smirked. "How insulting," he huffed, pretending to be offended. Then he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I can't stop thinking about what Winry's face will be like when she sees us, Brother."

"Peh." Edward waved off the comment as though it was an annoying insect buzzing in his ears, but his heart began to drum defiantly against his ribcage. "It'll be all snotty and gross when she's done bawling her eyes out. Nothing to look forward to, I can assure you."

Alphonse shook his head, clearly trying to be disapproving, but failing to keep a straight face. "Must you always be so unromantic?"

"Unromantic? Why would I care about something like that?" Edward said hastily, but the way he jolted forward and the rush of blood to his face immediately undermined his words. When Alphonse's smile widened, he blabbered on, willing his face to return to its normal colour. "Science is my religion, Al! I don't believe in a land of rainbows and unicorns that only appears to two people unified in love!" To his horror, what he said only caused him further embarrassment when a series of unwelcome mental images of a certain blonde, wrench-wielding madwoman flashed through his mind. He yelled out in frustration, loudly enough to attract a few odd looks from other passengers.

"Well then," Alphonse wheezed, breathless from laughter, "I'm going to research whatever chemicals are associated with people falling in love, and I will prove to you that romance is as much a part of science as alchemy is."

"You do that," Edward grumbled, but his words were half-hearted.

"Brother," said Alphonse, and though his tone remained light and cheerful, the word had something of a meaningful stress to it. Edward snapped out of the completely unromantic reverie he had fallen into and looked quickly at him. "Are you happy?"

Their eyes met, and in a second they were in perfect understanding. The question was laden with remembrances of the painful struggles and deliberations of the past, of moments when they had felt as if they were slowly drowning in a black sea of terror and guilt, with no light to guide them to shore and their hopes sapped from them as if the retreating tide pulled them into watery depths.

"I'm happy, Al," Edward answered. So happy he could cry, but he wasn't about to say that. It didn't matter, though, because his face said it for him. He could feel his forehead seizing up with emotion. How strange it was, that being happy could hurt.

"I'm happy too, Brother." Alphonse drew Edward's arm through his own. "See? We're happy. You don't have to think about everything in terms of science. Isn't there satisfaction to be gained from just sitting back and marvelling at things you don't understand?"

Edward remembered the sound of a baby wailing on a stormy night, and the tiny ant perched on his finger, wiggling its legs as he held it up against a starry sky. "Yeah." He patted Alphonse's hand, so pale and thin under his own, and looked forward to the day it would be sturdy and strong again. "Maybe I was never meant to be an alchemist in the first place. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"Brother, you were brilliant –"

"Brilliantly stupid, you might say," Edward cut in airily. "No, don't look at me like that. I don't give a single damn about alchemy. Al, you –" he stopped to take a breath and let it out forcefully, "you mean the world to me. When I couldn't think of how to get you out of there . . . I didn't know what to do."

Alphonse gave him a watery smile. "You always know what to do, Brother."

"Come on, you can't be serious –"

"I am serious."

Edward shook his head, laughing. "Al –"

"Now don't look at me like that," Alphonse shot at him, mimicking his brother's tone so exactly that Edward gave up.

They both turned to the window and watched as they left dirty, smoky buildings behind and the landscape flattened out, golden light pouring from the sky and sweeping across a sea of green. Vast fields of wheat and corn rushed by.

"But you know," Edward resumed thoughtfully, "life will be pretty tough when a broken vase takes more than two seconds to fix. Though I daresay it'll be good for me."

"I'll try my best to fix whatever you need, when you need it," said Alphonse, his voice thick with drowsiness again. No sooner had he said the words than he nodded off to sleep, his head dropping onto Edward's shoulder. Their arms were still linked, and Edward laid his cheek on his brother's hair, listening to the rumble of the wheels below them as the train carried them home.

"I know you will."

* * *

 **My babies ~ I love them so much help**

 **Thanks for reading! :D**

 **-TTC**


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